


Three-Sentence Fics

by A_Candle_For_Sherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/pseuds/A_Candle_For_Sherlock
Summary: A collection of Tumblr minutae, mostly sweet.





	1. Something With A Cat

**Author's Note:**

> 1-6 are Victorian ficlets and 7-9 are BBC!

Drowsy, and weary, and heartily glad to see London, I stepped off the train into the golden last of the sunlight and a brightening, rousing rush of wind. At the end of the platform, Holmes sat waiting for me, muffler up to his chin and snow sparkling on his hat, a little stray cat in his lap, rubbing up against the gentle black-gloved hand that rested on its back. “You softhearted old humbug,” I murmured, grinning, and started toward him.


	2. The Opera

In the warm half-dark he had breathed into my ear the story, line by line–the passion and heartbreak of the beloved, the danger of betrayal, the hero far from home and longing for it–and his strong hand had crept onto my knee as he leaned nearer. Now under the rising music he stopped and only looked at me, and then suddenly he laid a trembling finger to my neck, where my pulse leapt. 

“My dear boy,” he said.


	3. Getting Dressed

At Netley, and then again in the Fusiliers’ various stations, I had learnt to dress myself in three minutes: waking as I slept in my smalls, then on with my trousers-shirt-stockings-vest-coat, and my shoes and hat by the door, or the entrance to the tent.

Three months into our affair, Holmes stood up from bed in the midst of this routine, with a little frown, and took my stockings from my hands. Then he drew them on slowly, stroking his hands up my calves, and did up my fly; then my braces, and my vest, with a gentle stroke across both shoulders, and my cravat, wrapping my neck up slowly, kissing the pulse before he covered it; and finally helping me on with my coat, tenderly, with a laugh at my amazed and flustered face, and three kisses to my temple, to finish all.


	4. Horseback

“We are forever in your debt, Mr. Holmes, if there is anything–anything at all–”

Holmes interrupted, “There is, if we might have the use of your land for the afternoon, and your two thoroughbred bays,” and he winked at me.

I turned hastily away to hide my blush, knowing full well that he had done this for me; that he would keep close to my side as we rode through the fens and fields, delighting in my delight, and memorizing the sight of me in saddle, and I would be thoroughly, tenderly adored to-night.


	5. Diogenes Club

He stops in the midst of going through the desk-drawers, and puts a hand to his eyes, with a soft sound, just audible in the quiet. I go to him, and put my arms about his shoulders, feeling them tremble with contained feeling; whisper, “He was happy so long as you were well.”

He only nods; and I stand behind him, wrapped about him, thanking Fate or Providence that I’d found him, and that Mycroft had lived long enough to see it.


	6. Candlelight

The morning I met him, he’d cut a fascinating figure in the laboratory’s cold, clear light–slender, odd, and eager, with shining eyes. Since then I had seen him gleaming in moonlight, crouched lethal and elegant in the midnight dark, lit up in glorious day in the middle of the blossoming park, half-asleep and soft-eyed in the shadows of the Bath, and thought him beautiful everywhere. But I know now I love him best at day’s end, tucked safely up under my arm, at rest, undefended and quiet in the candlelight.


	7. Swing Dance Trophy

He runs a finger down the side of the little golden cup, engraved with “Sherlock and Martha, Tallahassee, May 2000–Dance Til It Burns,” and then looks up open-mouthed to see Sherlock promptly bury his flaming red face in his hands. 

“Did you really–” he starts, but trails off as Sherlock nods helplessly into his hands while Mrs. Hudson giggles, “Oh, he was brilliant!”

John gathers his courage for a moment, then says, “Will you teach me?”


	8. Breakfast

In the end it’s just that the morning light streaming in through the window lights everything up like happiness, and Sherlock, eating cornflakes, barefoot, having gotten burnt on the case in Chiswick, now has freckles on his nose, and I want to kiss them so badly that I finally, finally say, “Are you in love with me?”

He’s frozen, staring at me with his mouth open and the spoonful of cornflakes dripping slowly into his lap, and I’ve just time enough to get really, properly scared when I realize he’s blushing, and when I start to smile he smiles, too, even though his hands are trembling. I hold his face in my hands and kiss the freckles, and the blushes, and his wet eyes, and his mouth, sweet and cold like cornflakes.


	9. Speed Date

Wild dark curls, bright eyes, dead-on stare, looks rather like he wants to murder me. 

“My sister made me do this, I’d rather die but she’s six months sober and I promised, how about you?” I say.

“This is my landlady’s birthday present,” he says (holy god, what a voice), and slowly, he starts to grin.


End file.
